


The Dread Clock of Certain Doom

by Gearsmoke



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:54:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gearsmoke/pseuds/Gearsmoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if these twits had been born 200 years ago?  WHAT IF, HUH?!?</p><p>(Formatting's a little wonky, that's what I get for upgrading to a different word processor.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dread Clock of Certain Doom

The Dread Clock of Certain Doom

  


“You do look quite rakish today, Master Nathan.” Charles nodded approvingly as his young charge tied back his raven locks, let to grow daringly long, with a black silk ribbon.

  


“That is the aim, my friend.” He regarded himself in the gilt-edged wall mirror, dressed to be noticed, from the blood red of his jacket to the stark black of his leather riding boots, he did love to step outside of fashion. The modern, crisp cut of his waistcoat flattered his stocky build, and the succinct manner of his trousers led the imagination. He applied a faint gloss of rouge to his cheeks and lips, giving him a look of sultry intensity. “I will make those urbane gentle ladies swoon tonight.”

  


“I am sure you shall, Master Nathan. Shall I check on the other lads and call for your carriage?”

  


“If you would be so kind.”

  


Charles bowed lightly and exited Nathan’s room, drawing the intricately carved double-doors closed. The group’s ever-faithful attendant stepped smartly through the grand halls of the shared home of Dread Clock, the most successful of the new-fashioned group musicians.

  


The band had been gaining in popularity, and their concerts had been drawing thousands of people, so vast a number that they had been forced to play in open parks to accommodate the throng. Money flowed in like water, and with that freedom, the lads were able to revel in the most decadent of lifestyles. They broke rules, they challenged conventions… and they were even setting their sights on the newly invented phonographic recording machine as a means to distribute their works.

  


Charles functioned as more than a servant, more than merely an attendant. In this house, he was master. He took care of the day-to-day necessities of keeping the huge estate running. He also attended to the various personal needs of each of his lads. He was their support, their confidant, and if they needed it, their friend, and he loved them as he would his own flesh and blood.

  


Toki, barely an adult, and yet the last word on Mandolin, was writing a letter to his family, his pen scratching elegant lines of Nynorsk, the obscure language his parents insisted on, even though only a small fraction of his homeland used it. Charles watched him for a moment, noticing the strange, distant look on the boy’s face. “Master Toki, the concert draws near, it is time to go.”

  


“T’ank you, I will bes ready ins a moment, just gives me long enoughs to finish t’is.”

  


“We will wait. I will see you at the door.” Charles left to seek out the other musicians.

  


~*~

  


William was a cellist, who had the capacity to play stunningly, but often fell short of that mark by sloth or foul mood. He was found playing with his collection of medieval torture devices, in this moment, it was a Pear of Anguish, and he was cranking the nasty little thing open and shut in his hand. When Charles informed him of the time, the celloist got up immediately, eager to get to their performance.

  


“When are we leaving?” William placed the cello lovingly into its case.

  


“Within minutes, if I can roust the others in good time.”

  


“Well, I schall be waiting in the carriage then.” William hurried to the front door. Charles nodded with relief, at least one of the group would be in good form.

  


The band’s attendant found their oddly-named pianist in the study, amid a haze of opium. “Master Pickles, the carriage will be at the door shortly, and we’d so appreciate it if you were to join us in a proper state of mind.”

  


“Oh, Charles, dear. Have no worry, the dragon delights me, but he hasn’t the strength to claim me. I will be perfectly able to play.” The pianist, the oldest of the group, got to his feet with only a slight waver, and smiled triumphantly. His jacket was slightly disheveled, and Charles drew close to adjust the other man’s garment. “If I might be so bold, you look a tad more delighted than the patrons of the concert might find appropriate. Let me put your hair back, it is in need of a comb. And there, you look more the gentleman already.”

  


“Do stop fussing, Charles. I am as sound as a stone.” Pickles flashed a bright smile.

  


Nodding, “Then we will see you at the door, quickly now. I must find Master Skwisgaar.”

  


“He will be in the arboretum, if I know him, and I think I do. He has those imported Koi fish from the Orient, you know. He is obsessed with them.” The red-haired man snorted amusedly.

  


Indeed, their violinist was in the warm, green space of their year-round garden. But not merely watching the fish, he was playing to them. Weaving sweet tones on the strings of his instrument until Charles approached him.

  


“It’s time to go, the driver is waiting.”

  


“Sure, we goes. Dids you know? De fishes, dey responds to my musics. Dey comes right up to watches me play. It ams incredible.” The blond violinist smiled cheerfully. More cheer than the usually dour fellow typically showed. Charles approved of the hobby, it was making the tall Scandinavian more comfortable, more pleasant to be around.

  


Once on the road, the musicians fell to talking amongst themselves, and Charles sat behind the driver, not wanting to listen to their babble. He watched the stars, content with the sound of horseshoes clicking on cobblestone. 

  


~*~

  


They played for a smaller crowd than usual, but this was a performance for the elite. The jaunty music soared and reverberated down from the hall’s arched white ceiling, onto the swirling glitter of bejeweled dancing couples. The setting was opulent, and the musicians were playing well, complementing each other as their vocalist narrated stories of glory and adventure in his rich, gravelly baritone. Each song brought forth a new wave of genteel clapping. 

  


Near the stage, a collection of (one assumes) unmarried women watched the performers with awe and not a few flirtatious winks. There were always a few ladies of flexible virtue waiting to entertain the musicians after a show, and as they played, the five men glanced over and silently picked out their first and second choices for the night. The selection looked promising – fun would be had.

  


And indeed it was, as usually happened. In the morning, the ladies would be thanked and wished well, and then sent on their way. Life, in the lads’ opinions, was good.

  


~*~

  


But in the morning, there was a letter.

  


“That outrageous hussy!” ranted Nathan, “She promised me this would not happen! She swore it!”

  


“Nathan, think rationally.” The bespectacled attendant’s tone was weary.

  


“I am. I don’t want a child, I specifically told her. She insisted that it was safe, that even if she had ever begot a child by me, she would not seek me out!”

  


“She is desperate, Master Nathan, she needs to feed and clothe the boy, and it is your child.”

  


“It is her child. I have no son.”

  


“You are being a child. Come now, you have wealth and fame, what harm will it do you to be your own son’s benefactor? We will have her agree to secrecy on the matter, and with gold we will silence her, you will not need ever see or think of this child again.”

  


“Good, yes, fine. But the principal of it bothers me. She has control by this conniving.”

  


“No conniving, sir. Just a woman, like any woman.”

  


“Yes, they are all like that, aren’t they, Charles?”

  


The attendant smiled slyly. He wouldn’t know.

  


Unfortunately, Laura – this was the boy’s mother – would not be satisfied with mere money. She came to the Estate that evening, insisting that she talk to Nathan, that she show the singer what his passions had wrought.

  


“I wish for you to be his father, and my husband.” She said, shockingly forward. It had been her forthright attitude that attracted Nathan in the first place, but now he found her assertiveness distasteful. She had pushed the boy on him, made him look into the small face, the green eyes and furrowed brow that told him… this is mine, this is my blood. It scared the large man like nothing else ever had.

  


“I will not.” Nathan’s tone was petulant

  


“It is not right for your son to grow up in poverty and without a male role model.” She was beautiful, hair the colour of chestnuts, fair skin, eyes like sapphires, richly blue. But her voice had turned shrewish, her glance sharp and severe. “What would everyone think? What would your precious audience think of you?”

  


Nathan scowled, “You will not tell anyone.”

  


“I will. If you don’t care enough to be an honourable man, I will tell everyone.”

  


The vocalist glared, fighting to maintain his composure. “I am weary of you, and of this conversation.”

  


Laura laughed, “Fine, sir, I will leave, for now. You have until tomorrow to reach a decision. And then, well, I must do what a mother must do.”

  


Silence as the woman left with Nathan’s child in her arms. Charles watched her leave, although she did not know he had been there, had been listening in.

  


Nathan was not surprised when the attendant entered with a knowing expression. Charles made it his business to be aware of these things, and the lads trusted him to do what was right. No secrets survived long around their wily keeper. “Nathan, this is a problem.”

  


“I am aware.”

  


“Do you feel any differently now that you’ve seen the child?”

  


“I cannot express myself, Charles. I am confounded and frustrated. I know he is mine, and I feel that I should protect him, but that woman, she is insufferable! I would never see my son again just to keep her away from me.

  


“She no longer holds any part of your heart, then, I take it.”

  


“None at all. She is a shrew and a harridan, and I loathe her.” Nathan’s tone was acidic. “Yet… I will try to make peace with her, for the sake of the child.”

  


“Don’t be hasty, Master Nathan. I suspect things will work out better than you expect.”

  


Nathan glanced sidelong at the older fellow, Charles always seemed to know things, and the singer always felt that those things should not be questioned. “Alright, my friend.”

  


~*~

  


In seclusion, Charles spoke quietly with one of his most trusted employees. “So you understand.”

  


“I do, sir.” The man’s steel-hued eyes regarded Charles. Like a hawk, alert and attentive, and just as silently, he rose and slipped into the night. The band’s attendant returned to his rooms alone, feeling a sense of satisfaction, but also a little bit of regret. He didn’t like this, the foul-ups his lads made that needed a broad stroke to paint over.

  


~*~

  


Laura never showed up. Instead, a lone black-clad man came to Charles and handed him a bundle wrapped in cloth. Pulling the blanket away, Charles looked down at Nathan’s son. When he looked up again, his employee had once again vanished. The problem had been taken care of.

  


Nathan was surprised when Charles brought the child to him. He did not ask about Laura, and if he had, Charles would not have explained. This was instantly understood.

  


“He’s mine. This is my child. Charles, I don’t know if I can be a father, I don’t know how.” The boy didn’t even have a name, Nathan reflected, and he started to panic, the responsibility was overwhelming.

  


“I’ll help you, it will work out.” Charles laid a hand on the dark-haired man’s burly shoulder.

  


“I believe you. I suppose it’s going to be difficult for him, growing up without a mother.”

  


“He will have us.”

  



End file.
